The Adventure of the Barchester Clergyman
by callensensei
Summary: Reverend Obadiah Slope has a disconcerting meeting with his new neighbour in Baker Street.


**On the last page of Anthony Trollope's novel, Barchester Towers, we learn that the ambitious, womanizing cleric, Obadiah Slope, has left Barchester in disgrace and set up home in Baker Street, where he is rising in his profession. **

**This story is dedicated to two of my favourite actors: Alan Rickman, whose breakout role was Obadiah Slope in the BBC's delightful production of The Barchester Chronicles, and Jeremy Brett, Granada's mesmerizing Sherlock Holmes.**

**The Adventure of the Barchester Clergyman**

It has been twenty-five years since we took our leave of the Reverend Obadiah Slope, chaplain to the Bishop of Barchester. The reader will recall how Mr. Slope's fate lay ultimately in the hands of three redoubtable ladies: Mrs. Bold, Mrs. Proudie, and Signora Madeleine Neroni. Unlike Prince Paris, who chose to bestow his favour on only one goddess, Mr. Slope had attempted to juggle the golden apple amongst all three, and the ladies' subsequent wrath had forced him to flee from Barchester in disgrace. However, the reader will remember that Mr. Slope was not defeated, and entered London with fresh conquests in view. He courted a wealthy widow, married her, and became known as one of the most pious and eloquent preachers in the parish of St. Marylebone. As his wealth and status grew with the years he almost forgot the desperate campaign fought in Barchester, until a chance visit on a fair Sunday morning in May in the year 1881.

On the morning in question the now Reverend Doctor Obadiah Slope, Archdeacon of the Diocese of London, was standing on the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral, smiling condescendingly at the members of the congregation as they took their leave. The years had been kind to his appearance as well as to his pocketbook. He had the good fortune to be tall, and though he was no longer the slender chaplain of his Barchester days, his height enabled him to carry with grace any extra inches that age or prosperity had added to him. Even the gray at his temples and fine lines at the corner of his eyes had merely served to make his appearance more distinguished. Best of all, Dr. Slope's mellifluous voice and pretense of humility had never lost its power over the female heart. The fact that he had never cultivated the skill of befriending his own sex never concerned him.

He smiled beneficently as the Duchess of Kent, resplendent in velvet and satin, sailed towards him with her husband the Duke bobbing in her wake like a forgotten dinghy.

"What a soul-stirring sermon, Dr. Slope," she murmured, extending her gloved hand demurely. "I confess I was quite a-tremble from the moment you mounted the pulpit. I have seldom experienced such a…frisson within the walls of a church. "

Dr. Slope pressed her hand, bowing slightly and smiling like the serpent that tempted Eve. "You are too kind, your Grace. One is merely a workman in the service of the Almighty."

"And may I offer my congratulations on the happy event to come?" she added, unwilling to surrender his hand.

"Again I find myself in your debt, your Grace. My dear wife and I will be honoured by your presence, and that of his Grace the Duke. If I may be allowed to express a wish, I pray that you will endeavour not to outshine the bride yourself."

The Duchess blushed as her husband harrumphed and pulled her by the arm. "Come along, my dear. We have a number of calls to pay today – we cannot spend the whole morning in worship!"

The sarcasm of the Duke's last word was not lost on Dr. Slope, but he merely smiled and bowed again as they took their leave. The last knot of parishioners – nobody very important among them - were descending the steps when the chaplain, Mr. Harkness, came scurrying out of the church. "Your pardon, Dr. Slope, but there is a gentleman who desires to see you in your office. He says it is most urgent."

"What is it? The wedding?"

"No, sir. He said it concerns the activities of the—" and Mr. Harkness paused as he struggled to remember, "—the Amateur Mendicant Society."

Dr. Slope breathed a slight sigh of impatience. "Could you not deal with him yourself, Mr. Harkness? The wedding is in three days time and I still have some minor arrangements to attend to…indeed, my wife feels that none of them are minor. In any case, the expense I am devoting to this wedding will preclude any charitable donations for the time being. Pray tell this gentleman it is out of my power to oblige him."

Dr. Slope moved back into the church with the tight, carefully controlled step that had always secretly reminded the chaplain of a gliding snake. He called out nervously after his master, voice echoing in the now near-empty cathedral. "But Dr. Slope, the gentleman does not represent a charity. It seems he is conducting some kind of criminal investigation and requires our assistance."

Dr. Slope spun, eyebrows flying up in alarm. He waited for the chaplain to catch up with him, and when that worthy arrived, the poor man was nearly wilted by the wrath in his master's eyes. The tones which had flattered the dutchess moments ago now hissed quiet and ominous. "Would you do me the kindness to lower you voice, Mr. Harkness? Now - what do you mean by a criminal investigation? Who is this person? Is he connected with the police?"

"No, sir, not the police. He claims to be a private agent, though apparently he makes himself available to the police for consultation, should they be at a loss."

"Does he? I see no reason why the police should take an interest in my archdeaconery. Indeed, I suspect that he is employed by some scandal monger who desires a sensational story for the Jupiter." Though not above using the power of the popular press to further his own ends, Dr. Slope was not about to allow it to be used against him. "This interloper must be brought to heel, Mr. Harkness. I will deal with him myself." He moved past the chaplain and strode swiftly up the nave.

Harkness had to trot to keep up. "Uh…I would not advise haste in this matter, sir!"

"And why not, pray?"

. "Well, sir, this gentleman…is quite extraordinary. His powers are remarkable! Even disturbing!"

"Disturbing?" Dr. Slope sounded unimpressed as they passed through the door that led from the church to the rectory offices. "How so?"

"Well, sir, I had never met him before today, but shortly after shaking my hand he began recounting personal details of my life – things he could not possibly have known."

"Such as?"

"Why, that I was born in Leeds and educated in York, that I have been to America, that my dog is lame, that my wife and I had a quarrel last night..."

Dr. Slope raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Well, the man is certainly an accomplished conjurer, at any rate! I am surprised you were fooled by such charlatanism, Mr. Harkness. It is obvious that this man has simply made enquiries about you. It is not so difficult to do, I assure you. I have done so myself on many occasions." At his chaplain's look, Dr. Slope smiled slightly. "Meaning that I have enquired about a variety of people of my acquaintance, and always within the bounds of propriety. Certainly I have always found it prudent to know something of my allies, and especially my enemies."

"Truly, sir, I would not wish this man as an enemy."

.A wry smile twisted his master's lips. "I daresay that no one who has ever jousted with me has ever considered me a fool or a coward, Mr. Harkness. I have fought many formidable adversaries in my time. I give no quarter and expect none."

They had reached the Archdeacon's office. Mr. Harkness swung the heavy door open, and the two men entered the oak-paneled, tastefully furnished room. There was no opulence or ostentatious grandeur in Obadiah Slope's sanctum: the room was decorated with the quiet masculinity of a gentleman's club, with tall bookshelves lined with gilt-bound volumes, a handsome oaken cabinet, and a large, well-ordered desk with not a scrap of paper of place.

Standing before the desk was a tall, slim, dark haired young man in a sober black frock coat who looked 'round as the two clergymen entered the room.

"Ah, forgive the delay, sir," said Mr. Harkness. "Reverend Dr. Obadiah Slope, Archdeacon of the diocese of London, may I present –"

But the name was lost on Dr. Slope's ears as the young man turned upon him such a gaze as an eagle might turn upon its prey. Dr. Slope felt he had never been subjected to a stare so fierce: it seemed as though it would search out every truth, every secret in a man's soul, and uncover it in the light of day. For an irrational moment the clergyman almost looked for a place behind the furniture to conceal himself.

The young man advanced smoothly and shook Dr. Slope's hand. "You must forgive my trespassing upon your time, Doctor," he said in a quiet, incisive voice. "I am here upon a matter that directly concerns the welfare of your archdeaconry."

"Not at all. Thank you, Mr. Harkness, you may leave us." As Mr. Harkness slipped out and softly closed the door behind him, Dr. Slope indicated a high backed leather chair, bade his guest be seated, and folded himself into the chair opposite.

"I believe we are neighbours, Dr. Slope," said the young man. "You reside in Baker Street, I understand."

"Yes indeed," the Archdeacon replied, a little annoyed and confused by the change of topic. "For some twenty-five years now."

"I myself have just taken rooms in Baker Street, and find the location most congenial. Indeed, I am certain you yourself must find living in the metropolis a welcome change from the West Country. In your profession as well as mine, Doctor, it is useful to find one's self surrounded by the sins of mankind."

"But of course, one strives to correct the sins of…" Dr. Slope drew back with a slight start. "Excuse me…did you say the West Country?"

"Yes." The young man's piercing grey eyes had transfixed him again. "You once held a preferment in Barchester, did you not?"

Dr. Slope's eyes narrowed and his lips compressed. This first shot was a little too close to home! Nevertheless, he was careful not to reveal his discomfiture. "Yes, I did spend some brief time in Barchester, many years ago when I was a young clergyman. But I was not aware that this was common knowledge. Where did you hear of it?"

The young man smiled, but the smile did not quite touch those eyes. "I have heard nothing. But I beg your pardon; I realize that your time is valuable, and so is my own. I have come to request the favour of perusing some church documents, specifically the records of charitable donations."

Dr. Slope was grateful to return to the reason for the young man's visit, but was still shaken by the reference to Barchester. This, after all, was an episode of his life that he had hoped was dead and buried. He adopted his blandest mask. "These are confidential records, sir. For what reason do you desire to examine them?"

"It is my belief that a number of the organizations on your books may be fraudulent, Doctor."

There was a pause. "I am certain you do not accuse the church—"

"Indeed not, Doctor. The church, as I believe, is guiltless in this matter. These frauds are the work of a criminal gang made up of the sons of some of the highest names in the land. They create fictitious causes and persuade our great institutions to provide large donations, which these people then appropriate. Their confidence men are able to present themselves as respectable gentlemen, and their forgers provide them with all the false documentation they require."

Dr. Slope blinked. This sounded as though the young man wished to protect the church, not bring scandal upon her. "I thank you for your efforts, sir; it seems they are kindly meant. However, I am obliged to point out to you that I am most meticulous in researching the organizations that solicit my archdeaconery for funds and cannot imagine that your suspicions are justified I have been told that you are not a member of the official police force. You are, as I understand, an amateur detective only. How can you be so certain of your conclusion?"

"The same way that I knew that you had held a preferment in Barchester. I deduced it."

"That? Come, sir. You enquired about it."

"Not so. I deduced it. It is my business to discover the truth of men's souls even as it is yours, Dr. Slope. You rely on confession, I on deduction. If I can prove to you that my methods are accurate, will you believe me, and hand me your records?"

Dr. Slope was not at all certain that he wished, either to hand over his records, or be witness to a display of the deductive powers of the young stranger, but his curiosity was peaked. It would be well to discover what else this man – whether friend or enemy – knew. "Very well. If you can convince me, I will render you any assistance I can. Now then. How did you know that I had held a preferment in Barchester?

"From the rug upon your hearth."

Dr. Slope started and glanced over at the red and black rug, a rare souvenir of his time in the cathedral city. "How on earth…?"

"I have made a study of textiles and patterns. That particular weave, coupled with that design, was produced in small quantities by Cliffords of Barchester some twenty-five years ago. It was never repeated. And as this is your private office, it stands to reason that the mementoes and decorations are your own. Therefore, I deduced that you had once held a preferment in Barchester."

Dr. Slope smiled and shook his head. "A fortunate guess. I might simply have visited Barchester."

"I never guess. A man as ambitious as yourself does not visit a cathedral town on a whim, Doctor. He uses every opportunity to further himself. And a man who rises without family or money to become an Archdeacon of the most exalted diocese in the country is ambitious indeed."

Dr. Slope's eyes had narrowed at the words, "without family or money," but the young man simply continued. "Your name is an unusual one, sir, and you will own, is not well connected in the realms of commerce or the aristocracy."

"Until now," Dr. Slope insisted.

"Ah, yes. Your daughter's upcoming marriage is the season's most celebrated match. However, I am correct in deducing that you are a self-made man?"

"You are."

"Quite so. Now then, as to your antecedents. Your accent tells me that you were born in the parish of St. Marylebone. The inflection is unmistakable, despite your years at Cambridge. That you were educated at Cambridge is of course, indicated by the diplomas upon these walls. And it is remarkable indeed that with the Anglican clergy's powerful prejudice in favour of Oxford, a Cambridge man like yourself has risen so high. This requires intelligence, energy, and tact, and most especially, a willingness to cultivate friends in the necessary circles. Well, Doctor? How do we progress?"

The gentleman under examination shrugged carefully. "Inasmuch as you have said, you are correct. Is there anything else?"

The young man smiled, as though seeing the challenge waved in his face. "Well, twenty-five years ago you must have been a young graduate, newly appointed to your first parish. I watched you greeting and bidding farewell to your parishioners today. You have a remarkable courtesy and tact with the ladies, and during the sermon they hung upon your every word. The men you failed to win over altogether – you did not even attempt it. As a young, unconnected clergyman you would have needed someone to give you a proverbial boost on the Episcopal ladder, and it would not have been a man. Therefore I conclude that it was a lady that put you in the way of an inviting preferment in Barchester all those years ago."

"Now really, sir—" Dr. Slope began, but he could not escape the memories that suddenly besieged him: of how, as a virtually penniless and unknown preacher in Baker Street, he had been approached one day after the service by a petite, middle-aged woman with eyes of fire and ice. She had indeed hung upon his every word, and soon obtained for him the position of chaplain to her husband. However he might shudder at the memory now, he certainly could never forget Mrs. Proudie. "It was a lady, yes," he finally admitted.

His examiner's eyes glittered with triumph. "Thank you, Doctor. These details are part of our bargain, after all. Now, who could this lady have been? The wife of a powerful minister of the church, as only such a one would be able to influence your career. And one who suddenly moved from London to the west of England. The wife of a Dean? A Canon? An Archdeacon? But the Archbishop appoints these, and there would have been no need for a sudden move to the country. However, I do recall that the government fell suddenly twenty-five years ago this May in a vote of non-confidence, and many new bishops were appointed. Attendance on a bishop would have been a splendid opportunity indeed, even if it meant leaving the capital for a cathedral town. And since the lady had championed your cause, and no doubt desired the incense of your spiritual services at all times, you would need to live in the palace. And so you became the chaplain to the Bishop of Barchester."

Dr. Slope shifted uncomfortably, hoping that the secrets of his past were not so transparent to everyone. "I became chaplain to Bishop Proudie, yes. And accompanied the Bishop and his wife and family to Barchester."

"Well then, forth you went together, but together you did not remain. There are no other mementoes from that part of the country in this room, nor any photographs nor testaments upon these walls from anywhere but the metropolis. You not only left Barchester swiftly, but wished to excise the memory from your life and career. Why? Because your career did not prosper there. Some…misfortune occurred."

The clergyman said nothing, but glared at his examiner with no very friendly eyes. The young man continued.

"But it was not a result of any delinquency of duty on your part. You are thorough, intelligent and industrious. Your private office here is a marvel of organization and efficiency. I have already heard what a splendid speaker you are – surely it was no want of eloquence in the pulpit that dethroned you. And the quiet primness of this room tells me you are not a man driven to excess in any form. Therefore I am certain it was some clash of personalities that brought you to grief in the cathedral town. Indeed, sir, I suspect it had to do with your behaviour with women."

"_Your behaviour with women_…" For a moment the Reverend Dr. Slope sat coiled and frozen at the echoed words of the bishop's wife. Then he remembered that she had said this many years ago, and this man had not been there. "You forget to whom you are speaking, sir!

"You have a mesmerizing effect on women, Doctor. It attracts them like iron to a magnet. Every woman, old or young, married or single, respectable or dissipated, in that church today was captivated by it. As to what it must have been when you were twenty-five years younger, and coupled with your extraordinary voice…"

Dr. Slope had not been expecting such a riposte. In spite of himself, the former chaplain sat up straighter and tried to hide a smile. "The ladies of Barchester were very well aware of me," he said without apology.

"I daresay they were. And then, as now, you basked in their admiration. Oh, come, sir. You tell me your secret in a thousand ways. Doubtless you would have made a number of female acquaintances in Barchester, but a man of your discretion and intelligence would never have compromised yourself enough to risk dismissal – at least, until you had secured a power base for yourself that could not be assailed. And yet you _did_ make a false step. You compromised yourself somehow. Whoever this lady was, she must have been very beautiful."

"She was," Dr. Slope heard himself whispering, and bit his lip in horror. Had she still such a hold upon him, after all these years? Certainly he had never met a woman as dangerously beautiful as Signora Madeleine Neroni, the first woman he had ever loved…if, indeed, so dark a passion could be called by so bright a name.

"But why did you not marry her? No fortune, no connections - at least not enough to tempt you? Oh, tut tut, sir. A wife without money or family would never have suited your ambition. Was she not free? Good heavens, you did not pursue a _married_ woman?"

The implied censure stung and Dr. Slope felt both its shame and injustice. "_Never_, sir! But this lady had been treated in an abominable way! Her husband had beaten her and left her maimed and destitute. How could even the church consider her still married to such a wretch?"

The young man raised an eyebrow. "An unenviable position for you both, Doctor, I agree. Nevertheless, the lady must have known that the scandal could ruin you. Did she not try to dissuade you?" At the bitter smile on the clergyman's lips, the young man whistled. "Ah – I see that love turned to hate. She did not try to save you. She tried to destroy you. And all because you would not mix love and business."

Dr. Slope winced at hearing the very words Madeleine had said to him, and could almost hear her mocking laughter across the years. His glance fell to the wedding ring upon his hand. Madeleine had taunted him unmercifully upon his failure to win the hand of the wealthy young widow Eleanor Bold. Between the two of them, they had made him ridiculous.

If the young man had made any deductions about the clergyman's present marriage, he chose not to utter them. Instead he continued, "And then your patroness discovered your liaison. You little knew what you were about when you let yourself be made the lady bishop's creature, did you? She had engineered your presence in the palace for her own purposes, and the thought of a rival put her in a jealous rage. It was she who persuaded the bishop to dismiss you. But you would have fought for your place – you are not a man to be cowed by a woman. Why, your daughter is to be married to the Earl of Strathmore in three days time and here you sit calmly entertaining me instead of dancing attendance on your no doubt frantic wife! You have not even consulted your watch once."

Dr. Slope hardly seemed to hear the reference to his wife and daughter. He was lost in the memory of that fateful interview.

"What a bitter last battle you must have waged in the Bishop's palace that day. The lady must have preached you a stinging sermon. Called you false – corrupted – ungrateful. Threatened to strip the gown from your back."

"Oh, she said all that, and more!" Overcome with bitterness, Dr. Slope could not help himself. "That woman was a sanctimonious hypocrite! She said I would have corrupted her servants and her daughters, yet she had me dismissed because she was jealous of my attentions to another lady! _She_ was the one corrupted! The bishop was a weakling and a puppet, but still I pitied him. She died some years ago – by the bishop's hand, I shouldn't wonder."

"You were fortunate that you did not die at hers."

There was a pause, as Dr. Slope realized that those words had been spoken in deadly earnest.

"What?"

"Indeed, Doctor, you have little enough to complain of. It appears you have made a career out of using women to further your ambitions. But it is a very dangerous game you play.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"You tried to rob the tigress of her cub. You secretly courted her daughter."

The clergyman gasped as if struck. "But…how can you _possibly_—"

"As you mentioned this lady's accusations, you toyed with a fob on your watch chain. It is a silhouette of a young lady, engraved with the initials O.P."

"Olivia Proudie," Dr. Slope whispered. "Yes, there _was _a secret engagement. But it was very brief. Her mother never knew."

"By the Lord, it is as well for you. Had this jealous Medea known of your relationship with her daughter, she might have been driven to murder. I have seen enough of the darkness of the human heart to be sure of it."

Obadiah Slope swallowed, shaken to the core. He had never, ever considered this. But well he remembered the fury and hatred of Mrs. Proudie every time she had spoken of Madeleine Neroni, how through this he had finally realized the existence of the lady bishop's own thwarted passion for him. If she had learned that her beloved pet chaplain had consorted with her own _daughter_ ….

"I-I cannot deny the truth of what you say. I have been careless, callous, covetous…I _have_ sinned." He was conscious of those strange grey eyes still boring into him. "But indeed I am not so beyond redemption as you paint me, sir! I am no Don Juan! I swear to you, I never encouraged Mrs. Proudie's…affections for me! I was not even aware of her true feelings until that final interview. And Olivia was not harmed by our relationship – she went on to marry well, I understand. And I have _not_ used my wife and daughter. They mean more to me than…" he paused, as he realized that his daughter would soon be leaving his home. "…than I can possibly say."

There was a long silence. The young man said nothing, but his eyes were gentler now, more human.

At last he rose. "I beg your pardon, Dr. Slope. You must have any number of calls upon your time. If I might trouble you for those records?"

It was a moment before Dr. Slope could trust himself to speak He shook himself slightly and stood up.

"You are welcome to whatever records you require. I will make no objection." He moved rather haltingly to a large glass bookcase, retrieved a key from his watch-chain, opened the doors and took out a large ledger.

"My thanks, Doctor. I shall return it promptly, and I trust I shall be able to save the church from any more fraudulent appeals. I shall see myself out. Oh – and please accept my best wishes on your daughter's marriage."

"What? Oh. Of course. Thank you. Thank you very much."

"You have been a fortunate man, Doctor. I advise you to be grateful for the blessings you now possess."

"Amen," Dr. Slope replied, and looked very thoughtful.

As the young man took up his hat to leave, his host suddenly spoke once more. "Forgive me, sir, but when my chaplain introduced us, I did not hear your name."

The young man smiled. "Well, you may hear more of it soon enough, sir. My fellow lodger is eager to chronicle my cases for the public. He is inclined to romanticize them, but perhaps they will be bring me some fame." He paused in the open doorway. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. Good day to you."


End file.
